


And, Framed by Sunlight, Live

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual ciri, Established Relationship, F/F, Fake prose (in which i think i can write but cannot), Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, This is so shit jfshdhjgfsjksfhgkfshkgjhk, Very mild internalised aphobia, ace author, but also aro author how the fuck do relationships work, could qualify as hurt/comfort i guess, i was sad and wanted to write sad but then i wrote soft, just some gals being in love and having a chat, soft? I guess., the barest hint of angst, they’re lesbians your honour, this entire thing is just. Lying in bed. Talking., this is so short i’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A moment passed, a moment broken only by the chirping of sea-birds outside the window, a moment of perfect stillness framed by the autumn sunrise, and then it was broken, as Ciri clasped Cerys to herself, hugging her tightly, a tangle of arms and legs and bedsheets.“I love you,” she said, softly, so quietly that she could scarcely be heard, even by her own ears. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”“I love you too. More than you could ever imagine.”
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Cerys an Craite
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21
Collections: Anonymous





	And, Framed by Sunlight, Live

**Author's Note:**

> jfdhjkdhgfjsdf I’m so sorry about this but also. I love them

Ciri clasped her hand around Cerys’, her cold and slender fingers reaching out, wrapping around Cerys’ warm and almost-clammy palm, arm snaking across her gently rising and falling chest as she did so.

“Are you alright, love?”

Cerys’ low voice was hoarse, the residues of a good night’s rest still clinging to her throat, warm and comforting.

“Mhm,” Ciri said, meeting Cerys’ eyes as she turned her head lazily, to catch her gaze.

Cerys grinned, ever so lightly and softly, skin crinkling at the corner of her mouth, and... well.

She was beautiful, framed like a painting in the orange light of the autumn morning, broad shoulders peeking just above the the covers, and Ciri, pressed so wonderfully close to her, fell in love with her again, for the thousandth time.

“Ciri,” she said, softly - a softness reserved only for these moments between them, “something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing, love,” she murmured.

“Bullshit it’s nothing,” Cerys said, shifting slightly, turning to face Ciri properly. “I love you, Ciri. Talk to me.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Not more than that story you’ve been pestering to tell me about Hjalmar, myself and the snowdrift, I’d wager.”

Ciri smiled wanly. “Just- It’s stupid.”

“If it’s worrying you, it’s not stupid.”

“It’s not worrying me.”

“I can see it on your face, it’s-”

“Cerys.”

Wincing, Cerys pulled back a little. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, sincere as ever. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Ciri clasped Cerys’ hand tighter in her grip.

“It’s fine, I just-”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t- feel. Things. Like-” Ciri stumbled over her words, tripped over her tongue, losing the easy eloquence she’d picked up as a child at court. “I love you, Cerys, okay? Don’t ever doubt that, I love you too much to watch you doubt that. But I’m not- I don’t. Feel. Attracted.”

“To me?”

“To anyone,” Ciri said, quietly. “I don’t know if it’s something wrong with me, or-”

Cerys’ grasp around Ciri’s hand, intertwined with her own as it was, grew firmer in its grip - holding her tight, tethering them together. Steadying Ciri’s trembling fingers.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“But-“

“Nothing,” Cerys repeated, firmly. “Being raised around the world’s horniest bachelors may have skewed your perspective somewhat, Ciri, but I swear to you you’re not broken, there’s nothing wrong with you, none of that shit. Trust me.”

“I want to.”

“But you can’t.”

“No,” Ciri sighed. “I’ve seen too much of the world to trust you on this.”

“But you’ve not seen all of it.”

“I’ve seen more than most - I’ve seen what love is, what lust is, and I’ve seen the latter without the former, but never the other way round. And I just thought- I love you, I really do, but I don’t want our relationship to be... unfulfilling, for you.”

“It could never be,” Cerys said, murmuring the words like an oath under the morning sun. “It’s got you in it.”

“Even if I’m not-”

“I don’t expect sex from you, Ciri. I don’t want anything from you that don’t freely give me. I promise, my life will not be lesser for having chosen you as a partner.”

Ciri furrowed her brow, caught between emotions, relief and denial and shock and affection warring amongst each other. Cerys, in turn, simply reached up with her free hand to brush ashen hair from her forehead.

She ran cold, she knew, but it had never bothered Cerys, Cerys who was warm and bright and powerful, the sun to Ciri’s moon.

How she loved her.

“You’re not broken,” Cerys said. “There’s nothing wrong with you - people come in all kinds of manners. You’ve got Dandelion, who’s ear for music is unparalleled, who composes songs for the ages and loves it- and then me, who couldn’t tell a sharp from a flat if it hit me over the head. Likewise, there are people like Geralt of Rivia, who lust and lust freely, and...”

“People like me,” Ciri finished, a note of bitterness to her voice. “Cerys-”

“Trust me.”

A moment passed, a moment broken only by the chirping of sea-birds outside the window, a moment of perfect stillness framed by the autumn sunrise, and then it was broken, as Ciri clasped Cerys to herself, hugging her tightly, a tangle of arms and legs and bedsheets.

“I love you,” she said, softly, so quietly that she could scarcely be heard, even by her own ears. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too. More than you could ever imagine.”

Cerys held Ciri tightly, pressing her head into the crook of her neck, where Ciri could hear her heartbeat, the low, regular thumping of Cerys’ every pulse as beautiful as the most high-brow of symphonies to her ears.

They were here. They were alive. They were _living_ , vicariously and yet so gently and softly, in each others’ arms.

They lay there for what felt like an age, just _being_ , taking the opportunity, the moment, to simply rest there and exist in each each others’ embrace, soft and warm and safe.

In the cold, Skellige sunrise, far too early morning, to the tune of seabirds singing and Cerys’ beating heart in her ear, pressed against the wiry body of the woman that she loved, Ciri realised-

She was _home._

**Author's Note:**

> Commint? :0


End file.
